Gears of Denial
by BlueBastard
Summary: First stage: denial. Second is anger. And third is complete, ignorant, bliss. Problem is, Marcus won't let Baird get away that easily. Marcus/Baird M/M Slash.
1. Chapter 1

Title: Gears of Denial

Disclaimer: I do not own nor profit from Gears of War. Half the fans would threaten me, half would love me, and the other half wouldn't care.

Summary: First stage: denial. Second is anger. And third is complete, ignorant, bliss. Problem is, Marcus won't let Baird get away that easily.

-BB-BB-BB-

Damon Baird was a complicated genius. He hated the locusts with a passion and was terrified of heights like you wouldn't believe.

But he was also very logical. So blunt, in fact, that he had passed the border of being a bastard, it was his goddamn last name. He was so far from the border it was like a friggin' dot to him.

Not that it phased him.

So there he was, on the edge of a cliff so high he refused to acknowledge the plunge, as he lay on his stomach, glaring through his Longshot's sniper scope.

'I hate Marcus.'

BAM!

A locust drone dropped dead. Its brains scattered in the hilltops below.

'I hate him not.'

BAM!

Another drone bit the dust.

'I hate his guts.'

BAM!

'I don't...'

He shot another. It was getting more difficult. The roars and frantic movement indicated the slow brutes had finally noticed a sniper in their midst.

'I want to fuck him.'

The images assaulted his brain and the blonde cursed as he missed, the Locust ducking behind a boulder.

'I... want him to fuck me.'

"Aw hell..." Baird cursed as the bullet connected.

The Corporal was having a pretty bad fuckin' day.

-o-o-o-

Baird tried to loosen tense shoulders at the sight of his Sergeant.

Marcus Fenix.

Same whopping height of 6"1', same color eyes, but more intense. Where Baird's was a robin blue, Marcus's was more like chilling ice. He was convinced the man had glued his do rag on his head, with how much he wore the thing.

The very man that plagued his thoughts since that unlucky night. He never saw who it was, and he thought he recognized the other voice, but the sounds were clear enough. Marcus had been fucking someone who sure as hell did NOT sport a pair of tits. And whoever it was had been fuckin' enjoying it.

Baird normally wouldn't have cared. It was life or death out here. And not enough ladies for lonely cots.

He could give a rat's ass if Fenix got his jollies with another dude.

Of course there lay the problem.

With Marcus, he fuckin' DID care.

And he couldn't look at the man without hearing the pleasured sounds. His mind unwillingly filling the gaps of exactly why the brooding man's bed mate cried out for more. Harder. Faster. And fuck it had been hotter than hell itself.

He could feel his cock just twitching at the memory, his eyes flickering to the imposing figure currently hunched over, exuding every bit a weary soldier absolutely not enjoying the slop that was their rations. Bunch of tasteless, protein shit that was the gray color of splattered brains he had seen through his scope half an hour ago.

Still, he couldn't look at Marcus the same.

But he'd eat Locust shit and die before he'd let anyone, ESPECIALLY their fearless leader, know.

Brushing on his best glare, he made a little huff as he stomped to Delta's little table, announcing his presence as noisily as possible.

"Valley's cleared out. Want me to shine your shoes next? Paint your toenails? Maybe see if Queen Myrah wants to do lunch?" Baird snipped, forcing relaxed irritation into his features.

Marcus merely glared at him, clearly not in the mood.

His only reply was a grunt.

"Don't fuck with the man, Baird." Cole warned, the dark-skinned man chomping down on his food like it was beef and gravy.

"Yeah, let him eat in peace." Dom added, glancing up at Baird with a warning look.

"No, you know what? Fuck that shit. I didn't see any of your asses up at predawn, on top of (1) Mount Everest, sniping the shit out of moving heaps of stinkin' grubs." Baird growled, arm swiping the air in anger as he nodded in Dom's direction, "Why didn't you go? Thought you claimed to be a better shot than me."

Dom coughed suddenly, choking slightly on his food, before replying vaguely, "Rough night."

Then suddenly it clicked. It all fell right into place.

The other soldier last night.

It had been Dom.

Now Baird was a genius. But he never claimed to be very smart with his mouth.

He knew he should've dropped it. Walk away while he was still breathin' and all that shit.

But he was fuckin' pissed off.

And nothing short of a full on Locust invasion was gonna stop him now.

"Rough night huh? What about you, Marcus? Rough night too?" Baird demanded. He saw those broad shoulders tense. Could see this was headed to a bad place. But it was like a fuckin' car wreck.

And Baird's mouth was drivin'.

"Woah baby, shift it down a gear. We all jus' need some sleep." Cole, ever the peacemaker when it came to friends, swooped in.

But Baird didn't need his goddamn help.

He was in a pissy mood. And Marcus was the best target.

"No, Cole. I wanna hear it from our fearless leader's mouth." Baird cut in before the big guy could say anymore.

Dom opened his mouth to say something, but Marcus stopped him with a hand in the air.

"Didn't realize the princess needed her beauty sleep. Whaddaya wanna know, Baird? If I fluffed my goddamn pillows?" Marcus growled, glaring burning craters into his unfinished pile of food.

"Yeah, as a matter of fact, I do. Or maybe if someone else did it for you." Baird replied, miffed that the do rag-wearing bastard hadn't even looked at him yet.

There was a deadly pause.

Slowly, Marcus bit out, "...What did you just say?"

A rock could not have been more tense than the muscled Sergeant just then, back so stiff you could've bent an iron crowbar if you swung full force.

Baird did not know when to call it quits.

He was angry at the world. And somehow, he managed to point the blame entirely on Adam Fenix's son.

"What, too many frags knock out your eardrums? Let me dumb it down for you. Was last night too much of a fuck fest for you to NOT ruin my fuckin' morning?" Baird demanded, shifting his weight to the other leg as he continued scathingly, "I mean -hey- *I* thought a good lay was supposed to relax you, not make you into a freakin' ornery, uptight, bastar-"

Marcus was standing and up in Baird's face faster than he could blink. Hell, faster than he thought even possible for the other Gear to move.

Face a mask of pure fury, Marcus snarled, finger jabbing painfully at Baird's chest, "*I* don't see how that's any of your GODDAMN business, Corporal Damon S. Baird."

Marcus was an intimidating man. He could make grown ass soldiers crumble from a hardened look alone.

An angry Marcus was bad enough.

But a furious one...

But Baird was tough as nails himself.

A charging Brumak may make him want to piss his pants, but the blonde had the balls to stand his ground anyway.

"It *becomes* my business when decisions are made where *I* get shafted, getting up at the ass crack of dawn, 'cause others were too busy rollin' in the hay and having themselves a grand ol' time." Baird squared his shoulders, standing toe to toe with the mountain of a man. They may have been the same height, but Marcus definitely had more muscle mass, almost dwarfing the blonde's more slender figure.

Baird had glared pointedly at Dom, rising a growl from the bearded man, before glaring back at Marcus.

The ebony-haired man seemed closer than before, Gear chest plate armor nearly knocking into Baird's own.

Storm-like fury whirled in those piercing blue eyes, almost flashing white as frozen lightning.

His voice was a deep, thunderous rumble, deceptively calm as he questioned harshly, "So we got a problem, Corporal?"

It wouldn't have fazed the blonde in the slightest.

Except now Marcus was more than in his face. He was millimeters away, their armor clanking at the sudden move. Baird had no breathing room whatsoever.

And all he could think about were those sounds. Marcus fucking Dom. And how long it had been since he had any.

Marcus was only making Baird's unease worse as he grabbed a hold of the blonde's chest plate with one large fist, giving the silent Corporal a hard shake as he growled, "Well...?"

Fenix's heated breath curled around Baird's stiff jaw, the more slender man fighting the mixed emotions and urges rising within. Baird felt his face begin to flush. Marcus's eyes blinked at the sudden change in Damon's eyes. Almost as if-

Baird was quick to shove Fenix away, hoping to play off his blush as anger, snarling, "No. No problems at all, boss man."

The hardened anger had faded somewhat in the Sergeant's icy eyes. Rather, it started to fill with confused curiosity.

Dangerous.

Before Marcus could open his mouth, Baird looked pointedly away, at the gawking spectators spotting the mess hall. He couldn't risk Marcus finding out. Baird may not have a problem with guys fucking guys, but his pride definitely had a problem with rejection.

He had enough of that from his mother and father. Even though they had clawed handholds into his life until the day they died.

And nothing he had noted about the other showed the slightest bit of interest in Baird.

Hell, Baird himself hadn't known he was interested in Marcus that way until last night.

The blonde redirected his anger to the unwanted attention of the room full of COG soldiers, "The fuck you ladies lookin' at? This ain't no goddamn spectator sport."

Damon made to walk away, but didn't notice Marcus there until he grabbed the blonde's arm.

"Baird..." Marcus frowned, wanting to know what the hell was going on.

But the Sergeant was the last person Baird wanted to figure any of this out.

He quickly snagged his arm back, backing away as he snarked crossly, "Already told you, sir. Got no problems. Now if you'll excuse me, I have some bouquets and daises I gotta prepare for our next grub encounter."

He wished he hadn't glanced one last time into those cold eyes.

Marcus's frown had deepened. The look in his glassy orbs promised Baird this wasn't over.

But if it was up to the blonde genius, it definitely was.

Baird should have factored in the chances of success once Marcus Fenix had his sights set on something.

Because it was basically a big, friggin' zero.

-BB-BB-BB-

(1) I realize this is Sera, not Earth. Just needed a reference we could relate to, and Everest just fit.

A/N: Any interest in this pairing? Don't wanna dish out chapters if no one's hungry. 


	2. Chapter 2

A/N: Gah, stupid document upload. It's supposed to be double-spaced between sentences. Looks better. Ah well.

-BB-BB-BB-

Fuckin' grubs.

Baird struggled within his bonds, almost wishing the drone had finished him off with its stolen lancer.

He looked dismally around the dank caverns of the Hollow ruins, deeply regretting the words he had said.

And Baird was not one to regret a thing.

Not since his strict bastard parents had been alive.

Damn Marcus.

And damn the Locust for not killing him before he spouted that nonsense in his earpiece.

'Cause with Marcus it wasn't a question of IF he'd show up, but WHEN.

It wasn't the Sergeant's survival he worried about. Or even the poor army of Locusts that were gonna die because they got in his way.

No. Oh no.

It was número uno, Baird's own hide, that he was concerned about. And not from the Grubs holding him captive, but the do rag wearing bastard that was comin' to save his ass. There was no telling what Marcus might do.

"Aw, man. I am so fucked..." He muttered.

-o-HOURS EARLIER-o-

He won a chainsaw face off with the previous grub, putting his all in cutting through hard shell and soft guts. The juncture of the neck and shoulder was always the best spot, the revved lancer snagging the hard flesh in a way that helped cut through the mass of flailing innards.

Then the other damn bug snuck up behind him, delivering a ringing blow to his back. The blond staggered to his knees.

He could hear the instrument of death spitting smoke and ground metal, tensing for the final blow. But an armored Kantus rolled up, slashing its arm through the air with a fierce shake of its head.

He expected burning bullets to riddle him with holes, but he just received a harsh kick to the chest, knocking him flat on his back. Winded.

-::Baird? Baird, the fuck is going on?::- Marcus demanded over the headset.

The blonde had successfully managed to evade the darker haired man by volunteering to help the COG forces out with whatever repairs needed doing.

Volunteering.

Man, still left a vile, bitter taste in Baird's mouth. Or was that the copper tang of his own blood?

Anyway, avoiding Fenix at base was one thing, but in the middle of a surprise attack was another.

The blonde genius only hesitated a fraction of a second before replying.

"Uh, kinda busy here, boss..." Baird coughed painfully, glaring up at the scaly drone and leather-hided Kantus.

He raised his Lancer as it stalked closer. But the armored creature merely threw its head back and laughed. Baird knew he had no chance in hell of killing the Kantus without more explosive weaponry -something he was NOT gonna try at this range 'cause he was no fuckin' martyr- so he did the next best thing.

He twisted the barrel and shot a hail of bullets into the drone next to him.

Point blank.

The grub was a bloody and faceless heap on the ground before he knew what had happened.

The armored Kantus gave a furious cry before rushing Baird. It kicked the weapon out his hand, pinning him to the ground underneath its heavy boot.

-::We're comin' Baird! Hold on!::- Marcus growled through the headset.

But they were separated by a large wave of locust. Baird knew they wouldn't make it in time.

"Forget it, Marcus." Baird knew it was suicide for them. It was too late. Worry that would make lesser men break down clenched his heart, but he twisted it calmly into his lovable dry wit, even though it was at his own expense, "Guess this is the part where I spill my guts, huh?"

-::Shut it, Baird. You're not dead yet::- Marcus grated through the radio.

"I just wanted you to know..." Baird sighed deeply. Marcus couldn't know. But what did it matter now? He beat his pride with a stick as he finally admitted, "I... I don't care who you sleep with."

-::Shit, you're bringing this up now? You've been avoiding me for days and you wanna let me know NOW?::- Marcus was furious. But deep within the layers of anger was a seed of fear. Baird was talking like he thought he was gonna die.

"Just shut the fuck up asshole and listen -wait, you noticed?" A bloom of warmth seeped into his chest, but the blonde shoved it aside in favor of his limited time, "Anyway, just shut it. I don't care WHO you screw all right? I just..." Baird hesitated. But there was no time. The Kantus looked as though it would be done talking to the Queen bitch in its head at any moment. Now or never. "...Just wish you coulda fucked me over Dom..."

Baird could literally hear Marcus stopping dead in his tracks, Lancer slack at his side. 'Cause no matter how surprised he was, there was no fuckin' way he would drop a weapon.

Nervous despite his own dangerous predicament -seeing as how the Kantus was losing that far off look it sported while communing through crazy mind shit- Baird began rambling, "There. There, I said it. 'Cause... you know I... I do. I really, really do."

-::...Baird...::- Stunned was an overstatement. And Marcus was not one to let his guard down at all.

Then the Kantus struck the Corporal straight in the face.

Marcus must've been close enough to see, 'cause he roared Baird's name.

As unconsciousness dulled the fiery pain, Baird swore he heard Marcus shouting, -::Hang in there, Baird. We're gonna get you outta there!::-

-o-o-o-

Marcus had seen Baird through the throng of grubs. What had the Gear been thinking, getting himself separated this far out in the tide?

Baird's confession, as enticing as it was, had to be pushed to the back burner for a while.

If Baird only knew...

Dom had been encouraging Marcus to just tell the bastard already. But Fenix had stubbornly refused. His pride measured right up there with the sarcastic blonde's. Tough, weathered exterior. Gushy shit on the inside. But there was no room for that on Sera. Before, during or after the war. Not for these two men.

The moment Fenix had laid eyes on the blue-eyed devil, he had been as if physically struck. His heart stopped, and his eyes widened a fraction. His lips may have even parted a bit as he attempted to remember how to breath. He hadn't even glanced once down at the precious resonator the blonde had held in his hands.

When they had taken refuge in the mausoleum, he had managed to snap out of it, recognizing the bitchy voice he had recently met after he, Dom and Lieutenant Kim had picked up Cole.

'You're Baird.' Not really a question. It had been more Marcus attempting to reboot his brain.

'Yeah, that's right, asshole. Question is, who the fuck are you?' Ever the conversationalist, Baird had retorted sharply, not afraid to get in Marcus's face.

Fenix had learned to respect men that didn't back down. Didn't cower with their fuckin' tails between their legs. Baird may have come off as a whiny ass-wipe, but he was an intelligent whiny ass-wipe with some serious balls.

Not to mention a fuck-able lookin' one at that.

Bein' in the slammer had mellowed down society's propaganda for companionship. He knew a good lay when he saw one, and this blonde Gear before him was just Marcus's cup of tea.

That night, after the meeting with the Kryll, Fenix had fucked Dom harder than normal. With a fuckin' passion. And bein' normal fuck buddies, what with Dom's heart forever bein' Maria's -whether she was dead or alive- it had been a mutual compassionless jerk off session. Ever perceptive when it came to Marcus, Dom had asked what was up. But he already knew.

The newly appointed Sergeant had denied anything being wrong, so Dom dropped it.

But a week ago Dom had finally brought it up. His ass was getting sore from the pounding that had gotten increasingly unquenchable. Like a thirst had Fenix in it's grip, getting tighter and tighter, Dom being the only temporary relief around.

Tell him. Just tell the bastard.

As if it could be that easy.

'You met the guy?' Marcus had asked. He couldn't admit to himself that he fell for the blonde -and fell hard- much less risk telling the smart mouth and facing a snarky rejection on top of it all.

Even if there was a chance the Corporal felt the same way, he doubted Baird was the type to admit it.

'Yeah. And I gotta be honest, I'm kinda questioning your sanity right now Marcus.' Dom had joked.

Which he got a painful slug in the arm for.

But in the meantime, Marcus was more concerned with seeing a kicking and breathing Baird.

"Move. Move. Move!" He ordered the rest of Delta squad, sprinting through the horde.

Dom kept the sprinting pace at his right, barely sighting in his shotgun scope before he pulled the trigger, slamming face after face of Locust.

Cole lived up to his name, barreling through the grubs like a 50 ton train of pain.

He could make it!

Baird was only yards away.

Then an emergence hole erupted right next to the downed blonde and the armored Kantus. Like the physical manifestation of a black hole, Fenix felt it's appearance drain his hopes as surely as the color drained from his face.

"Fuck!" Marcus cursed.

He raised his gun, slamming round after round into the Kantus. But the notorious armor withheld his onslaught. Fenix cursed that he couldn't use a frag. Not with Baird so close.

"C'mon!" Marcus baited, "Bring it!"

But the Kantus merely shrugged off the hail of projectiles, shaking its spiked armor as though it was metallic fur that had been drenched in the rain. Shooting Marcus a fierce glance, the Kantus grabbed Baird's prone form and dragged the blonde with him down the hole.

"NO!" Marcus rushed to the opening in the ground.

But a burst of dirt and stone signaled the sealing of the grub's hasty exit.

Marcus didn't stop. He stumbled to his knees on top of the freshly covered hole, leaving the rest of his team to cover his back as he pounded the ground in frustration.

"Baird!" Marcus raged, clawing at the hard dirt.

"Marcus! Marcus, he's gone!" Dom pulled at his friend's shoulder.

"No!" Marcus shoved the other, bearded man with a jerked shrug of his arm, "He's not! They didn't kill him. They grabbed him!"

"How do you know?" Dom questioned.

Marcus had a hard look in his eyes, "I just do, all right?"

"If you're sure, Marcus..." Dom shrugged.

"I am. Now fall out! I'm goin' down the next hole that opens up. They're not taking Baird a second time! Not for long. If anyone wants to stay behind, I understand." Marcus shouldered his Lancer, eyeing each of his Gears in the eye.

"Ain't nothin' gonna stop the Cole Train, baby!" The lovable Gear declared enthusiastically.

"Can't get rid of me that easily, Marcus. I've come too far to let you die like an idiot on some suicide run." Dom chuckled.

Something tightened in his chest at their words. At what they said. And what wasn't said at the same time. Delta squad. Dom, Cole...

They were family.

And they would go through hell and back to help Marcus get Baird back.

Maybe they weren't in a perfect world. They weren't the perfect Gears the government wanted 'em to be.

But they were HIS Gears. And they were all each other needed to survive the hell Sera had become.


	3. Chapter 3

-o-PRESENT-o-

"Brilliant move smartass. Spoutin' shit thinkin' you're dead." Baird ranted, "Next time, why don't I wait 'til I've already bled to death first? No, wait. 'Til I'm six feet under. Obviously THAT woulda' been the right move."

He couldn't take it.

There was no torture he couldn't endure. No physical pain or trauma that he hadn't already experienced. But this, THIS was killing him.

The pure monotony and boredom of absolutely NOTHING happening.

"Hey. Hey! You! Yeah, you, ya ugly sonovabitch! What the hell am I doing here?" Baird demanded of the grub standing outside his dank cell, leaning against the bars since his hands were bound uselessly behind his back, "Do I have the letters 'POW' tattooed to my freakin' forehead? Can I just fight for more than a few months WITHOUT getting abducted by you and your equally ugly ass buddies? Hey? Hey, don't ignore me! Can't you see I'm drivin' myself bat-shit crazy in here, talkin' to myself?"

When the drone didn't even blink a scaly eye in his direction after the first -disinterested- glance, Baird sighed loudly and dropped himself onto the hard rock bench. Even if his hands weren't tied behind his back, there was no way he'd sit on the ground. Looked like something took a shit, a piss and then died on this floor.

And not... necessarily in that order.

Damon frowned at the ground, no longer really seeing it.

THIS is exactly why he hated not having something to do. He was the type of guy to just say what was on his mind when it came up. Not all fancied or prettied up in a useless concern for others' feelings. It was truth. It was real. Truth hurts. Shit happens. End of story.

But this downtime... when Baird had nothing to keep his hands or valuable brain busy... he actually started rehashing shit.

A dangerous past time for a man who hated his past.

-o-TWENTY FIVE YEARS AGO-o-

"Uncle Lou, why don't my parent's love me?" Blonde, unruly bangs covered blue eyes too bright for such a young age.

"Now what kind of question is that for a 6 year old to ask?" His uncle had asked, mustache twitching into a grin.

"They never have time for me, Uncle Lou. They just... buy me things..." Damon stated, disgruntled.

Granted, it was usually state of the art tech gadgets and toys not even out in the market yet, but what did that matter to a lonely child?

"Well... Damon, that's how your parents show they love you." His Uncle rationalized evenly, his posture on the chair sagging a little at the sadness for his young nephew.

Sudden anger flared as the blonde threw his train on the ground, "Well I don't want it! Not any of it!"

The toy shattered into pieces on the plush rug, parts bouncing to the far corners of the room in an attempt to escape the little boy's wrath.

"Damon..." Uncle Lou admonished.

But the blonde managed to look contrite in his stony silence. He gathered the broken pieces, without once glancing at his Uncle. In less than a minute, he had the toy train back together again and running on the tracks spanning his room.

"Damon..." Lou's voice was tinted with awe now, "Where did you- who taught you to do that?"

"No one," The six year old replied, forgetting his pact of silence. He could never stay mad long at his Uncle anyway. The boy shrugged as he replied, "I just know how. That and I've been watching you at the shop, Uncle."

The way the boy's face lit up wrenched his Uncle's old heart.

"I want to fix things. Build things. When I grow up." Damon stated carefully, knowing sometimes grown ups had a tendency to misunderstand what he meant.

"I'll make sure to speak with your father. I'm sure you'll make a fine engineer, Damon."

Baird beamed.

But he never did know if his uncle had spoken to his dad. Or if it would have changed a thing anyway.

His uncle had died shortly afterwards. Leaving Baird to long years of bullying and acute loneliness, despite the monetary wealth of his family.

Baird had learned young.

You gotta look out for yourself.

-o-FIFTEEN YEARS AGO-o-

They were twice his size. And there were two of 'em. But like hell he'd go down lookin' like a sissy.

He was actually handling the sorry-ass excuses of Gear recruits when they started playing dirty. Now normally, Baird didn't mind doing what needed to be done. Especially to defeat a bigger opponent. But there were two strikes to this simple equation. One: there were already two of 'em quadruple his own size, if you put 'em both together. And two: Damon was on the losing end.

"No wonder your mamas threw you in the compost. She couldn't stand to look at your cowardly mugs, ya ugly sons a bitches." Baird coughed, seeing stars from the low blow to the back of his head.

"We'll see who has the uglier mug by the end of this." The bigger soldier grabbed him in a strangle hold, dragging the blonde to the nearest stall.

Shit. Baird could see where this was going REAL fast. Against two of them, beaten up as he already was, he could hardly stop it. But that didn't stop him from running his mouth.

"This a freakin' competition? Sorry fellas. Both of you win gold by default. They just couldn't decide. Congratulations on winning the ugliest fuckers of the year award. They sent invitations to your moms, but you know. They couldn't stand the sight of either of you." Baird stated smartly, receiving another blow to the face for that.

Damon couldn't help the inward cringe as the toilet bowl loomed before him. The thought of how many dirty asses and bowel movements flashed through his mind. He ran the numbers and it was not pretty.

He began struggling, banging into the walls of the narrow stall as he grunted, "Fellas, C'mon. Is this REALLY necessary? I was potty trained at an early stage. Which is more than I can say for the two of you-"

"Shut that pretty little mouth of yours and take it, prick." The man outside the stall growled.

"Woah- hey, you did not just take it there." Baird grunted, still struggling as the ugly wax mustache man tried to shove his face down into the bowl, "Normally, you'd hafta take me to dinner first. Though no amount of steak dinners would make me say yes to either of your ugly fuckin' hides!"

"Just do it already!" Brown crew cut guy yelled in frustration.

"I'm tryin'." Mustache man grunted, surprised at the wiry strength in the smaller man. He kicked the back of one leg, forcing the blonde down to his knee, "This guy won't hold still!"

"No really? Here, let me make it real simple. Let me just stick my own head in there and flush it myself!" Baird snarled, gripping the bowl with both hands and locking his arms. He wasn't in fuckin' grade school. The first and last time he had ever had a swirly. Those 5th graders paid dearly for that. It made the two week detention worth it.

"Hey man, step aside. I need the john." A deep voice rumbled outside the stall.

Great.

Baird would've sighed if he had the breath to spare.

A witness to his humiliation.

Perfect.

Exactly what he needed. Right.

At least the door was fuckin' closed.

"There's other free stalls. Pick one." Crew cut growled.

"I did. I want this one." The deeper voice stated, as though it were a fact of life, and no one dare dispute it.

"Hey, pal. I don't need your fuckin' help. So why dontcha jus' mosey along and mind your own goddamn business?" Baird growled, still struggling between the bowl and the fat ass behind him.

"Don't sound like it, from where I stand." The new Gear wasn't convinced.

"Then stand in some other goddamn place, jus' beat it." Baird snapped.

The other man just laughed, a deep carefree one that surprised Baird as much as the other two numbnuts.

A short scuffle was heard outside and a slam against the lockers. A groan followed.

In two seconds flat the door busted open and the mustache man was pulled off of Baird like he didn't weigh 200 lbs.

Baird stood and turned to stare at the newcomer incredulously. He was a large, black man that was ripped like a fuckin' gorilla.

Mustache man was down for the count.

Dusting himself off, Baird pushed past the man to the sink, washing his hands as he snarled, "Said I didn't need any help. Not some goddamn charity case."

The big man just laughed wholeheartedly once more, "Man, you funny."

Turning to glare, Baird retorted, "Yeah hilarious. Some big fuckin' comedian."

The big black dude just stared at him for a little bit, big grin stuck to his face. His eyes almost seemed to flash with understanding. At the hurt buried deep beneath Baird's sharp sarcasm. It was... different.

Usually Baird just put people off with his attitude. But he just couldn't shake this guy.

"Name's Cole." The muscled Gear smiled bigger, if that was even possible, and stuck his hand out like the blonde even wanted to be introduced in the first place.

Baird looked at the hand presented to him, eyes narrowing in suspicion. What was this guy's angle? He searched those mocha eyes for a moment under his furrowed glare. But the big guy seemed truly genuine. A rarity these days. Something big was broiling in the horizon. Baird could feel it in his bones. It might not be a bad idea to have at least one ally when the crap hit the fans.

"Baird." The blonde replied simply, turning back to the sink, "Now put that away. I don't know where it's been."

Cole merely chuckled as he relaxed his arm, managing to take no offense at all.

"And don't expect for any return favors. I told you to stay the hell outta it." Baird griped, drying his hands.

"Hey, next time you wanna take a shower in shit, be my guest." Cole grinned broadly.

"Good. Baby steps, but I knew you'd get there." Baird turned to look over Cole once more. Still not sure what to make of the man.

"You don't recognize me, do you?" Cole asked incredulously.

"No shit, Sherlock. Why the fuck should I?"

"Augustus Cole."

"Cole Train? Number 83?"

"You gonna start spoutin' shit that makes sense any time soon?" Baird questioned in irritation.

"I played Cougars for Thrashball. MVP."

"Sorry. DGAS. Don't give a shit. 'Sides, I'm a Dolphins kinda guy." Baird smirked.

It was the first, relatively friendly expression anyone had been able to pull from him in a long time. And Cole caught that, if the huge beaming grin on his face was any indication.

"Well, shit baby. Been a long time since I ran into someone who wasn't a fan. Kinda nice change of pace."

"Fan's just short for crazy fanatic idiocy." Baird scoffed, heading out the restroom. As Cole tagged along, the blonde started to feel a warm fuzzy feeling. Not that he was goin' soft or anything. Hell no. But he never really... had a friend before. Or fuck, even an acquaintance that would stick around long enough to endure a shot of Baird's one-of-a-kind abrasiveness.

As they headed out the door together, Baird stated, "And Cole? Don't ever call me baby again."

"Sorry Baird baby. Jus' gonna have to deal wid it, 'cause that's just how the Cole Train rolls."

"Knew this was a mistake. Big big freakin' mistake."

"See? That's your problem right there. You're a glass half empty man."

"No, I'm the guy who tells you where to shove the fuckin' glass." Baird retorted, "Now shove off the psycho babble and let's get somethin' to eat."

"Now you're talking baby! I smelled something good on my way past the mess hall! Like ribs. Mmm mm mmm."

Baird stared at the man like he was insane, "What world are you livin' in? I smelled the same slop we get every day."

"You gotta live a lil', little man. It's the little things in life."

"Yeah? Well you're crazy."

"Thanks. And you're an asshole. We good?" Cole asked, face full of white teeth.

Baird snorted. Then laughed.

Man, he hadn't laughed in years.

-o-TWO YEARS AGO-o-

"Where the fuck's Rojas?" Damon scoured the ramble of Gears that had come like a shit storm down on the Grubs that pinned them down.

They were late.

And this resonator was fuckin' heavy.

Cole just looked at him, then shook his head sadly.

Fuck.

Baird glared off to the side, noting the three Gears. One he recognized. Lieutenant Kim. But who the fuck were the other two? And why had they survived when Rojas hadn't?

-o-o-o-

"You're Baird." The rough voice sent a shiver down the hardened Gear's spine. The fuck? How had the guy even known his name?

"Yeah, that's right asshole. Question is, who the fuck are you?" Baird groused, stepping up to the man. Toe to toe.

This guy looked like he was born thinking others would fall in line. Fuck that shit. He better not expect the blonde to just keel over and 'yes, sir' him. Not Baird.

A nasty ass scar trailed the weathered man's right cheek. The Gear truly was not one to be messed with, if his earlier fighting skills were anything to go off of. But just 'cause he was a strong fighter, didn't mean he wasn't screwy in other aspects. Those sharp blue eyes narrowed at Baird's unnecessary approach, almost asking if he had a death wish. But then there was a flicker of something else.

A hint of... approval?

Then the Berserker made itself known and Baird's ice ran cold.

-BB-BB-BB- 


End file.
